


Willing Submission

by cessate



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bukkake, Gangbang, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cessate/pseuds/cessate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave is in heat. Normally he'd be one to ignore it until it had run it's course, but as the cycle peaks he's reaching his limit--and he's not the only one who has noticed he's a little out of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willing Submission

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a fill for the Transformers Kink meme. It's pretty terrible, for which I apologize.

Either the Eradicons were becoming more clumsy or he was worse off than he had initially assumed. Every time he turned a corner he seemed to run into one, sometimes literally, and the constant assault on his personal space was beginning to take its toll on Soundwave. He was a private mech by nature and normally his rank and reputation kept others at a healthy, comfortable distance, but recently that was becoming a luxury in short supply and this development couldn't have come at a worst time.

Soundwave refused to be a slave to his base programming. He ignored it for days, shoving aside the warnings that popped up on his HUD and the persistent lonely ache that haunted his interface equipment. His spike seemed in a constant state of half-pressurization, rubbing tauntingly against the inside of his interface hatch, his valve cycling down on nothing at every errant brush of contact with another mech. Eventually he had to admit it to himself—the symptoms were clear, and he was hardly uninformed in the matter.

Soundwave was in heat.

It was hardly his first heat cycle. His frame-type were notoriously prone to them, although Soundwave lacked the gregarious reputation of Seekers such as Starscream and his lot. If anything his own reputation kept others away, even in the midst of his chassis throwing off enticing waves of heat at every possible partner. 

Being affected by something so _base_ went against everything he strove to be—calm, cool, collected, _mechanical_ \--and as result he had entered a period of simple denial as he always did, hoping to wait it out. It was difficult; even as he attempted to keep himself in check his systems seemed determined to betray him. It felt as though he was constantly running on high, sensor net abuzz with every fleeting brush and bump. Images flashed through his processor, dozens of captured video clips of mechs copulating, the sort of thing he'd normally survey with a cold, robotic indifference—now they inflamed him, taunted him, made his valve twitch in anticipation of a spike that would never come. Fantasizing was not a regular practice for the spy, but now... now it was hard _not_ to.

The solution would be simple enough. Find a suitable partner, and ride it out until his heat cycle had run its course. The issue was his reputation, a necessary boundary between himself and his peers, and the fact that no one aboard the Nemesis seemed appropriate. Despite his knowledge of the situation Starscream would gloat if Soundwave were to present himself, Megatron would view it as a show of weakness in the typically stoic and aloof officer, and the others... Well, the medic and his assistant were hardly attractive to Soundwave, and Airachnid disgusted him with her ulterior motives.

As his heat cycle peaked it grew impossible to ignore. His interface equipment was constantly activated and ready, to the point where lubricant threatened to leak through his valve cover each time he moved. The last straw, however, was his inability to focus on his work. It was too easy for his mind to wander off, too hard to think straight when his spike throbbed against his hatch. Something had to be done.

He was moving through the halls, en route to this quarters, when one of the Eradicons bumped into him for what seemed like the thousandth time. This time, however, Soundwave did not ignore the contact. He lashed out, seizing the unfortunate trooper by the neck and forcing him into the wall, prepared to 

He paused, looking back pointedly at the trooper, then took the fork of the hallway that lead to the Eradicon barracks. His message was clear enough. The Eradicon paused, perhaps in disbelief, before rushing to follow the spymaster.

The barracks were mostly empty, most of the Eradicons out attending to their duties around the _Nemesis_. There were only a half-dozen, including his escort, currently off duty. They milled about the room, taking in energon rations or simply recharging, until his footsteps caught their attention. Immediately they jumped to attention, backstruts painfully straight as they awkwardly arranged themselves into a rough line.

“Sir!” they chimed in unison, only to fall silent the next moment in clear confusion. Finally one, the same one he'd accosted in the hallway, spoke up.

“S-sir is there, um. Anything you, uh, need?”

Useless words. They were his to command as he saw fit, his inferiors in every sense of the word. They would fight to the death if he gave the order, would do anything he asked. Including keep their silence. Soundwave visibly hesitated, the slight motion startling the Eradicons into perfect stillness. Likely waiting for some sort of reprimand. Soundwave, however, was no Starscream; there would be no shrill degradations thrown their way today. Only a single arm extended, beckoning, to the closest trooper.

“...Sir?”

He crooked a slender finger then, when the Eradicon did not take the hint, repeated the gesture. The Eradicon finally moved, but it was only to step forward with a small, questioning sound. One hand made an abortive twitch toward Soundwave's waist, and that was all the hesitation Soundwave could deal with in one day. He grabbed the Eradicon against him, eager to reinforce himself as the aggressor in this moment of weakness, grinding his heated pelvic span against the troopers thigh. The heat of his frame was unmistakable, and he could hear the subtle shift in the mechs ventilations as it finally dawned on him just what Soundwave was proposing.

Hesitantly, as if afraid of upsetting his superior, the Eradicons hands settled on Soundwave's hips. Soundwave immediately arched into the touch, torn between sudden satisfaction and sheer mortification as his cooling systems roared to life with such little prompting. With the sigh of a long exvent he gestured to the other Eradicons, motioning them to come. Urged on by his response, more hands joined the first, skating over rapidly-heating plating and down the thin cables of his waist. The sudden tactile assault was almost overwhelming to his overcharged sensor net, and despite his desperate wish to remain aloof and unmoved by their admittedly naïve pawing he was soon twisting and pressing into each touch at once.

Unskilled as they were, they at least had numbers on their side. It wasn't long before they discovered the most sensitive parts of his frame and began to exploit them, eager to please and spurred onwards by Soundwave's shameless pants and hums. One Eradicon knelt and nuzzled at the thin plating of his stomach. His abdominal servos fluttered at the delicate attention—not only was it one of the least armored parts of his body, it also proved to be the most sensitive. Sensing he had done the correct thing, the drone repeated the action, eliciting a shudder and another soft sound of pleasure from his superior.

His vocalizer clicked on—but even now he refused to break his self-imposed silence, and the voice that sighed in blind pleasure was not his own. Distantly he wondered if any of them recognized it as one of their fallen comrades, wondered if any of the Eradicons present had even _known_ Makeshift, let alone recognize each hum and sigh as his, but the thought was soon lost in a fresh rush of sensory input as a hesitant glossa slid over the sensitive metal of his interface panel. It snapped open immediately, Soundwave momentarily dismayed by his own wantonness as his spike surged to full pressurization, but the Eradicon didn't seem phased. Unsure, perhaps, but hardly judging as unsteady hands wrapped around the length of him and stroked once, twice.

That was all it took to bring him to his first overload. 

Soundwave rocked slightly on his heels in the wake of the power surges, left unsteady enough that one Eradicon moved in to steady him. He was led to the nearest berth, but rather than lay on it, as the Eradicon likely intended him to do, Soundwave leaned over the berth and steadied himself. Hands planted, legs apart, aft presented to the squad—it was a display impossible to misinterpret, particularly when Soundwave looked back at them and released the cover to his valve with a pointed stare.

Another hesitation from the Eradicons, then one finally stepped up, thumbing open his own spike panel. He was already pressurized, a small smear of silvery transfluid at the head signaling he'd been ready to go for some time now. Soundwave had little time to muse over his effect on the troops before the Eradicon took himself in hand and slowly guided his spike into the waiting heat. Soundwave's valve immediately cinched down around it, forcing sensor nodes against the ridged metal. Here the Eradicons reluctance was at least somewhat useful; it had been some time since Soundwave had allowed another mech anywhere near his valve, and had the Eradicon moved any quicker there likely would have been a considerable measure of discomfort to be dealt with. As it was Soundwave simply shuddered at the sensation, shoving his hips back when he grew tired of the slow drag, demanding a more satisfying pace. 

The Eradicon seemed pleased to comply, his movements quick if a little unsatisfying in angle. Soundwave attempted to rectify this as much as possible from his end, tilting his hips and using the berth to steady himself under the onslaught of the Eradicon's rather naive attentions. It was hardly the best he'd had, but in his current condition any frag was a good frag, and he panted and writhed his way through another overload, dragging the Eradicon with him.

It still wasn't enough.

One. Then another. And another again. Each took their turn attempting to satisfy their superiors lust. When he could no longer support his own weight they lowered him to the floor, arranging his limbs with a degree of care he had not expected from grunts. Transfluid and lubricant seeped down his thighs, practically dripped from his open valve, but it _still wasn't enough_. His ventilations came in short, frantic pants, back arching and hips tilted back as he plead-- _plead_ \--silently for more.

He was beyond shame when they propped him up between two of them, guiding his trembling thighs apart as they moved into position. Soundwave felt the first spike nudge into position, barely teasing the slippery edge of his valve, and he reflexively leaned back to try and take it deeper. Strong hands on his hips kept him painfully still, though, as the Eradicon took his time sliding in, testing the slickness, the give of the valve lining. At some unspoken signal he was lifted slightly and suddenly there was a second spike pressed up along, _with_ the first, stretching the rim of his valve in a way that rubbed deliciously over every sensor node. 

They moved in counterpoint, one thrusting in as the other withdrew, keeping up a pace that had Soundwave shuddering and twitching with every movement inside his overstuffed valve. The remaining drones stood around them in a rough circle; he could hear their cooling systems from here, each of them standing at loose attention, unsure where they could fit into this little tryst. A few of them idly pawed their own spikes at the spectacle before them. Normally Soundwave would have ignored them, focused solely on his own pleasure, but his heat wouldn't allow idle spectators.

His cables automatically sought out the onlookers, plugging into access ports without bothering to wait for any sort of permission. Heat or no, _he_ was in charge here, and it would be his pleasure that dictated how this would unfold.

What pleasure, though, was quite as sweet as the heady mix of fear and lust and pleasure that fed back through to him through the connections? He felt not only the stretch of their spikes but the sensation of the smooth inner lining and nodes surrounding their equipment, heard his own tiny pants and gasps for cooling air through their ears, could feel the sheer heat of himself through their hands.

It was rare that he opened up a two-way connection, giving as well as taking, but pleasure shared was pleasured doubled for him. He fed back his own sensory input to each Eradicon, let them know just how it felt to have them tending to his every need, how they felt deep inside him, amplified the feedback from their own spikes inside him. Several of them gasped, shuddered, _moaned_ , those not occupied with Soundwave's valve taking their own spikes in hand. He raised his own hands, and as if on cue a spike was presented to each. While he would have normally felt above such things, he immediately took them, sliding delicate fingers over the lengths, enjoying the rush of their pleasure and pleased surprise through the connection.

They each took their turn thrusting into his fingers or, when they grew bolder, rubbing against the smooth plane of Soundwave's facemask. He had long since disabled his optics, focusing instead with touch, sound, _smell_. The wet sounds of the spikes buried inside him, the soft scrape of his fingers along smooth spike ridges, the low, incessant hum of cooling systems, the shared pleasure of so many at once—it combined with the throb of his heat to reduce him to a quivering mess of want and need.

Several of their overloads caught him full on the faceplate, obscuring his traditional vision with silvery streaks of transfluid and forcing him to use several other sensors to keep track of them all. The pleasure of their overloads, of the thrill of performing such a debasing act on a superior officer, all of it passed through the connection into Soundwave. He overloaded once, _hard_ , then again immediately, finally overworking his systems and forcing several of them to reboot.

When he came to he was still streaked with fluid, most of it slowly drying and growing tacky and uncomfortable, but that wasn't what immediately caught his attention. First he noticed that the roaring demands of his heat seemed thankfully sated, at least temporarily. Then he noticed Megatron.

His lord stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the mess his spymaster had become. Soundwave braced for the worst, expecting his leaders disappointment and disgust, but the ex-gladiator simply turned and began to walk away.

“Clean yourself up,” he called back without looking, “And meet me in my quarters.”


End file.
